


Circle Jerk

by OldandKinky



Series: Tumblr Prompts [5]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Consensual Non-Consent, Copious Amounts of Come, Crying During Sex, Forced Orgasm, Fuck Or Die, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is So Done, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, M/M, Magic, Overstimulation, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Prostate Milking, Trapped, essence of life, handjobs, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29982519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldandKinky/pseuds/OldandKinky
Summary: filthfichunter asked: "Oversensitivity, Prostate milking, desperate Jaskier. Geralt and Jaskier are stuck in a magic circle of a deranged kinky mage. The only way to break the barrier is to give it the "essence of life" cue Jaskier masturbating furiously in front of Geralt (sterile seed of a Witcher doesn't work) oversensitive nearly firing dry Geralt milks those last drops out of Jaskier.... 🥛"**************I apologise wholeheartedly for that title, my friends made me pick it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Tumblr Prompts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2200035
Comments: 12
Kudos: 152





	Circle Jerk

**Author's Note:**

> filthfichunter asked: "Oversensitivity, Prostate milking, desperate Jaskier. Geralt and Jaskier are stuck in a magic circle of a deranged kinky mage. The only way to break the barrier is to give it the "essence of life" cue Jaskier masturbating furiously in front of Geralt (sterile seed of a Witcher doesn't work) oversensitive nearly firing dry Geralt milks those last drops out of Jaskier.... 🥛"
> 
> **************
> 
> I apologise wholeheartedly for that title, my friends made me pick it.

Jaskier is not ashamed to admit that he has run into quite a few walls in his life. Sometimes it happens because he's concentrating on what he's saying and not on where he's going, and other times it happens while he's running away from an irate spouse (or former lover) and his momentum just carries him straight into a wall instead of around a corner. He's quite used to the sensation.

The thing is, usually he can see the wall he's walking into.

He still can't see the wall that so rudely appeared right in front of him, as it's invisible to boot, meaning he smashed his nose straight into the unyielding surface. It's a perfect circle, Geralt tells him, about three paces across, and apparently it's a trap left behind by the mage whose humble abode they had been investigating.

"I thought this was supposed to be an easy job," he grouses, rubbing his nose. "Get in, grab the artifact, get out and get paid."

"It would have been," Geralt says, "if some idiot hadn't triggered the trap."

"What! I didn't trigger anything! I didn't even  _ touch _ anything, how could I-"

Geralt gives him a flat look, then looks at the ground. Jaskier looks down - underneath his boot is a sigil. It glows a faint blue.

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh." The Witcher kneels to take a closer look at the sigil, while Jaskier grumbles about stupid dead mages and their stupid traps. So occupied, he almost misses the way Geralt's shoulders tense.

"What? What is it?"

Geralt stands up again, and the way he is very pointedly not looking at Jaskier makes the hair on the back of his neck rise. "I know this sigil. It's… not good, Jaskier."

"Can it be undone?"

"Hm."

Jaskier chews on his lower lip. "Out with it then. The way you're behaving makes me think human sacrifice and I don't like it one bit."

"It's… that, in a sense."

"Come on, you always accuse me of speaking in riddles, and now you're doing it yourself!"

Geralt looks at him, his face entirely expressionless. That is never a good sign. "It requires…" Now he grimaces, like the words hurt on their way out of his throat. "The essence of life."

Jaskier stares at him. "I have no idea what that is supposed to mean. Blood?"

The Witcher heaves a long-suffering sigh. "It's semen, Jaskier."

"Oh. Oh! Well." He chuckles a bit nervously. "We'll just have a bit of a wank and be on our way!" Not that the prospect of having to wank in front of Geralt isn't one that sends both arousal and embarrassment shivering down his spine.

Another sigh. "Mine won't work. It's sterile, the spell doesn't recognise it as…" He vaguely looks like he's in pain. "As  _ essence _ ."

"Alright, then I'll have to do it, I suppose." His cheeks are burning but there are worse things, he supposes. "Shouldn't be a problem."

"Jaskier, that's not- You can't. That's the whole point of the spell. It's impossible to do for a single human. Once the… spilling has begun there is a time frame, and a certain amount that's needed. That's what drives the victims mad before they starve."

Now it's Jaskier who grimaces. "Lovely. Did I mention I really don't like mages?" He taps his foot, staring at the sigil. "I might have an idea. Oh, don't grunt at me like that, you haven't even let me tell you what it is."

Geralt grunts again, then lifts a brow.

Jaskier takes a deep breath, feels his cheeks heat up. "Surely you know what the prostate is?"

Geralt's eyes widen, just a hint. Then he nods.

"See, I was thinking that with a good old-fashioned prostate massage I might be able to save us from starving to death here. It's just… I'd need some help with that. I can't reach, believe me, I've tried."

Geralt makes a sort of strangled noise.

Jaskier's cheeks are growing ever hotter. He has a long and colourful history of fantasies relating to having sex with Geralt but for some reason getting milked by the man so they don't starve caught in a magic circle never featured. Go figure.

And then Geralt nods, if a little apprehensively, and Jaskier makes himself smile brightly. So this will be their first - and possibly only - time. He doubts it'll be a hardship to have Geralt's thick fingers up his arse.

* * *

Famous last words, Jaskier finds.

He has lost all sense of time. Every last one of his nerve endings feels like it has been set aflame, and Geralt shows no signs of stopping anytime soon.

The Witcher has already dragged four orgasms out of him. The last one had Jaskier screaming so loudly his voice cracked, and Geralt is not stopping. The movement of his fingers inside Jaskier is steady and methodical, and that may just be the worst part of this, aside from the fire crawling under Jaskier's skin.

Geralt is only doing this so he doesn't have to die here, caught because of Jaskier's carelessness, not because he has any interest in the mind-blowing pleasure he is currently subjecting the bard to. He doesn't even look at Jaskier. The bard is leaning over one of Geralt's thick thighs, Geralt's free hand holding him in place at the dip of his waist and his elbow pressed between Jaskier's shoulder blades.

Jaskier wishes Geralt would look at him, would  _ talk _ to him. Instead he keeps his eyes trained on the sigil, the motion of his fingers inside Jaskier as steady and free of passion as a metronome, and Jaskier can't keep in his tears. They're at least part heartbreak, but really he's being pushed to his limit here.

"Geralt, please, just, I need a moment, please, it's too much, I'm sorry, I can't-"

Geralt's motions never falter, but he squeezes Jaskier's waist gently. Whether to reassure or to keep him in place, Jaskier isn't sure. He chooses to believe it's the former. "You're doing fine, Jaskier," he says quietly, and Jaskier whimpers.

"I'm really, really not," he sobs. It's his own damn fault. Mage, of course there were bound to be traps of some kind. He should have been more careful, and instead he blundered straight into trouble the way he does so often.

"Two more," Geralt says now, "that's probably enough."

Jaskier is going to die, he's sure of it.

The next orgasm has his fingertips tingling strangely, and he never thought it was even possible to have too many orgasms but he's not surprised to find out that he was wrong.

It's all too much. It hurts, and it feels fantastic, and as Geralt works him towards the next and, hopefully last, orgasm, Jaskier realises that Geralt's thumb keeps stroking along the curve of his arse, slow and gentle. It's… not needed. It's all his foggy mind can focus on, the slow back and forth even as Geralt's fingertips rub merciless circles over his prostate.

" _ Geralt _ ," he whines, squirming. His cock aches, his skin prickles, and he is definitely never going along on any contracts involving mages ever again. "Geralt, please." He doesn't even know what he's asking for. The Witcher just hums and pulls him a little closer with the hand on his waist, and as he reaches under Jaskier and takes hold of his cock - something that makes his brain spark and fizzle - he presses close to him, and Jaskier's eyes widen.

Geralt is hard.

Jaskier looks back at him over his shoulder, and now Geralt looks at him, too. His eyes are black, his pupils huge despite the midday sunlight streaming into the room, and it hits Jaskier like a punch to the gut that Geralt is, on some level, enjoying this.

"Geralt, I-"

The Witcher doesn't let him finish. He strokes his cock, two, three times, and presses his fingers into him just so, and Jaskier curls around his thigh, screaming as he comes and comes and comes.

Then, he knows no more.

* * *

When Jaskier wakes up, he's on his back in a bed somewhere. The bed isn't very soft, the mattress lumpy with old straw, and the ceiling beams are old and cracked. The window is open and he can hear the noises of a village going about its business.

He lies there, just breathing for a long time, staring at the ceiling as he takes stock of himself. His arse feels… well, it feels very well-fucked, he must admit, and his cock twitches at the thought. Just that tiny bit of stimulation has his insides aching, and he sucks in a pained breath.

"You're awake," Geralt says to his right, and Jaskier turns his head. The Witcher sits in a rickety chair beside the window, a book open in his lap. He's watching Jaskier, and Jaskier just looks back at him for a long time. Finally Geralt asks, "How do you feel?"

Jaskier smiles weakly. "Like I never want to come again ever in my life."

Geralt grimaces, then closes the book and puts it away. "I'm sorry, Jaskier. I shouldn't have-"

"No,  _ I _ shouldn't have. I was careless, and it's my own damn fault. You just did what needed to be done."

The Witcher scowls and looks down at a spot somewhere to the right of Jaskier's hand resting in the mattress. "I shouldn't have… I had no right-" He cuts himself off and turns his face away, and all of a sudden Jaskier's heart is racing.

He pushes himself up to sitting with a wince, his eyes firmly on the Witcher. "What did you have no right to, Geralt?"

Geralt's jaw works as he tries to find his words. Finally he says, very quietly, "I had no right to enjoy it."

Jaskier's stomach swoops, and all he can say is, "Oh."

"I should go, leave you in peace."

"What? No, absolutely not!" Now Geralt looks back at him, and Jaskier frowns. "Geralt, I- Surely you know how I… feel about you."

The Witcher stares at him.

"I mean, I've been trying to get into your outrageously tight trousers for years."

Geralt still just looks at him, and Jaskier fidgets.

"I'm not mad that you… enjoyed what happened. I just wish the circumstances had been different."

"Jaskier, I…"

"If you want to go, I won't stop you. But I don't want you to. I want the opposite of that."

Geralt sits still for four long heartbeats, and then he gets out of the old chair. He crosses to the bed and sits beside Jaskier, and his eyes are so big and… hopeful. Something inside Jaskier quivers, and when Geralt lifts his palm up to cup the bard's cheek, he sucks in a soft breath. "Jaskier, I… Do you mean it?"

"Yes, Geralt, I mean it. Wholeheartedly."

Slowly, Geralt's face breaks out into a smile, and Jaskier's heart soars.

Thank the gods for stupid dead mages.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](oldandkinky.tumblr.com)


End file.
